


Chivalry Isn't Dead (But Communication Is)

by BookishBrigitta



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant (technically), Double Entendre, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Irony, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishBrigitta/pseuds/BookishBrigitta
Summary: In which Peeta tries to deliver bread and misinterprets what he hears.“I’m sorry, Catnip.  Just try to relax, okay?  It’ll hurt worse if you’re all tense.”There was a beat of silence and then a hiss of pain from Katniss.“Sorry.  Can’t you try a different angle or something?”Peeta froze in horror.  No, no, no, he didnotwant to be hearing this!“That feel better?”“Mmhmm.  Just go slow.”
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen & Gale Hawthorne, Katniss Everdeen & Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne (slight), Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark (slight)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 86





	Chivalry Isn't Dead (But Communication Is)

**Author's Note:**

> See (super mild) trigger warnings by clicking to end notes.
> 
> Edit: I found the fic that inspired me to write this! Read it years ago, loved it, lost it, and found it again! [Here's the fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773789)

Following the Victory Tour, Katniss and Peeta had made a pact to be at least friendly to one another. After all, if they were constantly expected to be around each other, it might as well be pleasant. Katniss, it appeared, could not instigate a conversation without some sort of prop or pretense. So a couple times a week, Katniss would appear on his porch carrying a basket of something and babbling that she had too many rabbits to eat before they went bad or found a plant in exactly the color he’d been talking about for one of his paintings. In kind, Peeta regularly showed up at her house with some sort of baked good or, one disastrous time, a sketch he had done. 

(It had been a little colored-pencil flower. Katniss had stuttered for a moment before giving him a wane smile. Taken aback by the intimacy of the gift and unsure of what she should do, she nervously taped the drawing to the refrigerator. Peeta, feeling guilty for upsetting her and a tad embarrassed that the love of his life had put his art on the refrigerator as if he was her child rather than her maybe-kind-of-sort-of-fiancee, firmly stuck to baked goods after that.)

This day was no different. On the Sunday afternoon in question, he knocked confidently on the Everdeen’s door, a basket of warm, fluffy rolls in hand. No one answered, but he could see lights on inside and hear faint voices through the windows. Perhaps Katniss was still out hunting, and Mrs. Everdeen was busy with a patient, he thought. Hmm. If he left the basket outside, there was a decent chance the chipmunks would get to them before the Everdeens could. They never locked the door if they were at home; maybe he could just slip in and leave the basket on the kitchen counter. Yes, that was it. He’d leave it on the counter.

Peeta opened the door, carefully so as not to disturb Mrs. Everdeen’s patient. But, strangely, there was none of the usual patient commotion. He checked next to the door and found no sign of Mrs. Everdeen’s loafers or Prim’s new, brilliantly blue jacket. There were only Katniss’s things and a much larger pair of boots that were covered in coal dust.

But if Katniss was home, why hadn’t she answered the door? Was she okay? He crept further inside, intent on at least letting her know he was leaving the rolls until…

“Ouch! I thought you said you’ve done this before,” Katniss’s voice drifted from the hall that led to the bathroom.

“I have,” said a deeper, distinctly male voice. “Just never quite this deep.”

 _What?_ Peeta stopped short.

“Ah, Gale, that hurts!” she gasped.

“I’m sorry, Catnip. Just try to relax, okay? It’ll hurt worse if you’re all tense.”

There was a beat of silence and then a hiss of pain from Katniss. 

“Sorry. Can’t you try a different angle or something?”

Peeta froze in horror. No, no, no, he did _not_ want to be hearing this! 

“That feel better?”

“Mmhmm. Just go slow.”

He needed to get out of here, fast. His first instinct was to run, but there was no way he could run and stay quiet enough that Katniss wouldn’t hear him, not with his prosthetic leg. And the only thing worse than hearing this would be Katniss knowing he heard this. He’d just have to walk very slowly, very quietly out the way he had come in.

He heard a gasp from the bathroom.

“It’s alright, Catnip.”

Forget the Hunger Games; _this_ was the worst day of his life.

Another gasp. This one more pained.

“Gale, stop!”

Something uneasy prickled along Peeta’s spine. He paused mid-step and turned back toward the bathroom.

“I’m almost finished—”

“Gale!”

“Just stay still!”

Alright, that did it! Peeta was racing to the bathroom now. Awkwardness be darned; he was not about to stand idly by while something terrible happened!

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared as he flung open the door.

Gale straightened up from the sink; Katniss gave a muffled scream of alarm.

“Peeta, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed.

“I—I was bringing bread, and then I heard…” he sputtered as he realized that all parties were fully clothed.

He took in the scene properly. 

Katniss sat on the closed toilet lid with a mangled arm stretched out on the counter; Gale held a bloody rag and a pair of tweezers. A bottle of peroxide and a roll of gauze sat innocently next to the sink. Oh. Oh.

He held up the basket of rolls and said the only thing he could think clearly enough to say. “W-what happened to your arm?” 

“I slipped in some mud and scraped it. I haven’t quite gotten used to walking in these new boots. It’s not that bad, but it’s my writing arm. Gale’s helping me get the gravel out.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I just thought…” he trailed off.

“What? What did you think?”

“I...it sounded like something was happening...against your will,” he said, trying to put it as delicately as possible.

It took Katniss a moment to process what he meant by that, but Gale understood immediately.

“What kind of person do you think I am?” Gale said angrily. “I’d _never_ do that to _anyone_ —”

“It was a misunderst—” Peeta tried to explain. 

“And have you never heard of knocking—” said Gale, voice rising with every word.

“I thought someone was being hurt!” Peeta shouted right back. “Was I supposed to just wait politely and—”

“Enough!” Katniss yelled over them. “I know you both mean well. But can you knock it off so I can clean the gravel out of my arm before it scabs over?”

The boys at her sheepishly.

“Right, of course,” Gale said as he bent back over the counter to work on her arm.

Peeta shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I should head home soon, anyway. I’ll just leave this,” he gestured to the basket, “in the kitchen. I’ll, um, see you later?”

“Yeah,” she said. “See you later.”

**Author's Note:**

> Super mild warning for minor description of cleaning out a mild laceration and inferred (but not real) uncomfortable sexual situations.


End file.
